


Five Times Anthony Got Distracted And One Time He Did Not

by sonaaaice



Category: Smosh
Genre: 5+1 Things, Denial, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, excuse the overuse of italics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-28 13:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13905045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonaaaice/pseuds/sonaaaice
Summary: God, he is so fucked.





	Five Times Anthony Got Distracted And One Time He Did Not

**_2006_ **

"Did you write the script?"

"Anthony, you're my best friend, but if you ask me that one more time-“

" _Fine_. You're too sensitive."

Ian gives him a _look_ that says more than his words ever will. Anthony has been on the receiving end of said look far more times than what should be deemed healthy. Perhaps it says something about their years of friendship too because Anthony can swear he used to get legitimate chills whenever his friend glared at him in that cold way when he was really pissed. He wishes he could say that he's grown immune to it now but boy would he be wrong.

Despite what his Mom thinks, judging him from some of the crazy stuff they've done for their channel, Anthony does not, in fact, lack a basic sense of self-preservation. And so he shuts up for real this time. Because Ian, as gifted with an overabundance of patience as he may be, has every reason to smack him so hard that he wouldn't be able to speak for days.

So he turns back to his desk and wonders whether the video he's been editing for the last 2 hours needs any more touch ups. But he's tired and it's not like their fans - oh god they have _fans_ , it's still so hard to believe that actual living people enjoy their little skits - are first class critics breathing down their necks for A+ quality content. As long as it's funny, it works. Plus, the video isn't anything they're too proud of. He saves the most efforts for content they've worked their asses off on and can't wait to share with the world.

To say that Anthony is bored would be an understatement. He's fidgeting now; rocking back into his chair to make it squeak and tapping his foot to an unknown beat. His thoughts wander.

He doesn't realise he has zoned out until there's a loud _smack_ and a sharp stinging pain blooms in his forearm, the skin quickly turning red.

"Did you just fucking hit me!?"

Ian maintains an innocent facade for all of two seconds before he doubles over, clutching his sides and laughs like a maniac.

"Your face!" he wheezes out after he has calmed down enough to straighten back up. "I've never seen human eyes go that wide before," he manages to say in between his chuckles. At least he's not pissed anymore, Anthony thinks. Any amount of pain is worth the sight of Ian laughing like that. If you ask Anthony, he'll say it isn't fair that he rarely gets to witness the utter wonder that a heartily laughing Ian is.

With a heavy sigh, Ian settles back into his chair, oblivious to the warmth spreading through his chest along with something that feels suspiciously like pride.

"Why'd you hit me anyway?" He asks because as nice as it is to be able to make his friend laugh, he'd rather not have that happen at his own expense.

"You were being annoying with your fidgeting when you know damn well that I'm having trouble with this stupid script." He waves the notebook over before discarding it onto the bed.

"You have a mouth, you could have asked me to stop like a decent human being."

"Why, are you gonna cry now you little baby?" Ian coos.

He scoffs and lies, "It didn't even hurt that much." Ian smirks because damn it, he can always tell when he's lying. That won't do. "You and your noodle arms can do me no harm."

Ian's eyes, honest to god, _sparkle_ at that.

"Is that a challenge Padilla?"

Fuck no.

"Why not," he says with as much nonchalance as his currently panicking body can muster.

 

Fifteen minutes and a camera set up later, Anthony is slumped in his chair in the middle of the room with Ian looming over him, makeshift whip out of a Target plastic bag in hand.

"Are you ready?" And fuck, why is his voice so husky all of a sudden!?

Anthony nods timidly because he's not sure what absurd shit might come out if he opens his mouth right now.

 _Smack._  
_Smack._  
_Smack._

It hurts.

 _Smack_.

But Ian's lips quirk in amusement (or sadistic pleasure? Who the hell knows at this point honestly) with every forceful whip of the twisted bag. Between the huffs coming from Ian after particularly harsh strikes and the sizzling energy that seems to be growing in the room, the tension becomes too palpable for his liking. He wants to make a joke, wants to tear that plastic bag to shreds, wants to run away from this room, ego be damned, _anything at all_ to curb the growing warmth settling low in his belly. Because fuck everything, he is NOT turned on thank you very much.

He knows it's a thing, being into pain or whatever. He's seen the porn. Up until this moment he was also very sure that he was not into any of that kinky fuckery. So what is this feeling?

Is it because it's Ian? Meek, introverted Ian who is very much the opposite of timid now? Is he _enjoying_ it like Anthony is? Is he willing-

_Abort, ABORT, FUCKING ABORT MISSION!_

He is NOT going to have those thoughts about his best friend in the whole world when said best friend is inches away from him and can read him like an open book.

He doesn't realize the strikes stopped some time ago while he was having a crisis and freezes when a hand pushes back his bangs and presses against his sweaty forehead. He opens his eyes (when did he even shut them?) to be greeted with Ian's face looking down at him, concern etching his face in the frown of his mouth and the tiny crease between his brows. His thumb twitches with the sudden sudden urge to smooth it down.

"Dude, are you okay? Your face is all red. I don't think you have a fever but you look sick."

Oh Ian, if only you knew.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and tries to sound more coherent than he feels right now. "Y-yeah. I'm fine. I guess I underestimated your noodle arms after all." He smiles but it probably looks more like a grimace.

Ian gives a wry grin in return. "So I win?"

And it isn't fair. That he can remain so unaffected while Anthony is having trouble breathing with their faces so close, his hand supporting his weight against the backrest near Anthony's shoulder, as he leans down.

It isn't fair.

Life, unfortunately, rarely is.

If Ian reads the comments he gets on his channel after uploading the video as another 'A Day In The Life Of Smosh', he doesn't mention it.

Anthony is glad because he doesn't think he can tolerate listening to that lewdness about them without self-combusting, memories of a shameful wank late at night still too fresh in his mind.

 

 

_**2010** _

“If you go in to kiss me, I'm gonna stab you.”

It's an empty threat of course, coming from the guy who's been pining after his friend for three years now. It's more like an, er, offering? Yeah. A ‘no homo bro’ offering because if he doesn't do that then Ian will _know_ because his face feels so hot and he's sure he's blushing to the tips of his ears, _ohmygod_ what if Ian can feel the heat radiating off his face they’re so close but Ian is also flushed which doesn't make any sense and a big fucking mess is what it is.

He hates the person who suggested them this.

He hates himself for accepting the cursed tweet.

He hates Ian for making them sit with their legs spread, knees touching because “there was no other way to fit them both in the camera’s frame”.

This was supposed to be a simple staring contest, not this source of the giant clusterfuck of emotions currently brewing in Anthony's brain. Now they're both barely an inch apart and it’s taking him all the power in the goddamn universe to not lean forward and just kiss. He _wants_. Aches with it.

But all too soon it's over (Anthony laughed because he is a weak, weak man and it was too much all at once) and if he thought that that was hell, putting distance between them once again and trying to look at him without his own face breaking out in ugly red splotches is somehow even worse. He knows he'll be a blushing mess for a few more minutes. And Ian – sweet, darling, _angel_ Ian – thankfully doesn't say anything about it.

They need to get on with the filming, he knows okay? He knows that very well. Ian never lets them procrastinate when it comes to their videos because he's amazing like that. But sitting at this table, close enough that he _could_ reach over and entwine their fingers but he _can't_ is so upsetting that all he wants is to smother himself with that stupid Pikachu pillow.

Ian is busy stuffing his pretty mouth with the crappy leftover food before it gets too cold and becomes even crappier. It gives Anthony a moment of much needed reprieve and he eats slowly, willing his face to go back to it’s normal shade. Thankfully, his face tends to do that a lot and it's easy enough to blame the flush on laughing.

They continue with the rest of the video and he has to force himself not to creepily stare at Ian’s lips, shiny with the thin layer of grease from his food. Ian licks them suddenly (which by any means shouldn't look so obscene but it does) and Anthony, who is in the middle of chewing a piece of broccoli, promptly chokes and _wow_ , if this is how Anthony dies, he can't even be mad about it. His pathetic ass doesn’t deserve a more honourable death.

Ian, great friend that he is, is instantly by his side, thumping his back and offering a glass of water. Anthony is very glad that he's the one who edits these videos because he would rather not have anyone else cutting out the millions of shots of him making a fool of himself (which, agreed, is kind of his whole job at this point but usually the fool making is planned and prepared for; not this embarrassing mess).

They wrap up the video with their token “See you next Thursday!” and as soon as the camera is off, he exhales deeply. It's only now that he has somewhat relaxed that he realises how tense he had been for most of the video. The thing is, Anthony doesn't mind when it's just Ian who is a witness to his weird moments because Ian is an oblivious fuck. But uploading these videos for millions of eyes to analyse means running the risk of breaking that bubble of obliviousness surrounding his friend’s mind.

He can already imagine the number of gifs and fanfics this little moment is going to spur.

He thinks about fangirls losing it over at Tumblr and wishes he could do the same.

He needs a confidant otherwise he's going to explode. Which sucks because Ian is usually the one he goes to with all his problems and years of that means he no longer feels secure sharing his personal thoughts and worries with anyone else.

Would it be too reminiscent of a lovesick teenager if he were to keep a dia- ahem! – journal?

What would he even write? _Dear Diary, I really wanted to kiss Ian today but I'm a coward so he doesn't know about my fucking crush on him for the past three years._

Pathetic.

“Earth to Anthony, you there?”

“Hmm?” He looks up at Ian and does a double take at his clothing. Was he really in his own head for so long that Ian had time to change his outfit, fix his hair and put on cologne? (Since when does Ian own cologne?)

“Are you heading out?”

“Really Anthony? I mentioned it to you at least three times this week,” Ian grumbles and crosses his arms. “I’m going out with Melanie! It's our third anniversary,” he says with such tenderness in his eyes and in the shy smile that Anthony feels a flash of white hot jealousy pass over him.

Right.

How could he forget the other big problem.

Ian has a girlfriend.

Ian must take his silent frown for guilt because he grabs his keys and prepares to leave. “Oh and don't wait up for me. I'm staying over at Mel’s,” he adds with a wink – Jesus fucking Christ a wink! - before turning on his heels and leaving their house.

The door slamming shut jolts Anthony back to reality, the white noise in his mind fading only barely. Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In…

He surprises himself with the tears that streak down his cheeks unbidden.

God, he is so fucked.

 

 

_**2011** _

The thing is, contrary to what cheesy romance novels tell you, Anthony isn't haunted by thoughts of Ian in _that_ way in his every waking moment. Of course, because he is such an ever present constant in Anthony's life, it's a bit hard to not think about him at all. They live together, work together as well as share the same social circle for god’s sake. Except for when Ian's introverted side presents itself and Anthony is left to attend parties or events alone, they spend most of their time together.

But it's not like Anthony wants to jump his bones all the time. Ian is his best friend first, business partner second and unrequited crush last. Plus, after four years of pining, he has become quite an expert at suppressing those feelings so they don't ruin his friendship with the most wonderful man on earth – so much so that he thought he was over it finally and got himself a girlfriend last year.

Anthony _likes_ Kalel. She's nice and ambitious, funny in a sarcastic way that Anthony enjoys immensely, very pretty with her petite frame and sharp features. Don't get him wrong, he is very attracted to her.

But she's not Ian.

The first time after he started dating her that he realised it was…painful. He genuinely thought he had moved on.. Maybe it was time to admit that his little crush had evolved into so much more over the years.

Anthony Padilla is in love with his best friend.

The startling realisation shouldn't have been so surprising, in hindsight.

But he was dating someone else, someone he could see himself falling for with time. A sharp prickle behind his eyes had preceded the onslaught of hot tears. _What was wrong with him!?_ Kalel deserves someone who can give her his love wholeheartedly.

Anthony was so confused.

It took him a good few months and lots of Google searches accompanied with anonymous questions on relationship forums to come to terms with the fact that he _could_ love two people. Perhaps it wasn't fair to her. But Anthony has never claimed to be a saint. So he locked up the part of his heart that longs for his friend and lavished his attention on his girlfriend to make up for the months of being closed off and distant.

However, moving back to his current predicament, he is nearly nude and sharing his bed with Ian, pretending to jerk off. The problem lies in the fact that he has _actually_ touched himself multiple times in this same bed while thinking of Ian. And the guilt is now overtaking him.

He tried not to overthink his actions whenever he was done with it. Was it creepy? Maybe. Did he regret it every time? Absolutely. Would he do it again? Probably.

And that was that.

Also, he hasn't masturbated to fantasies of Ian in nearly six months, ever since he promised himself to be a better partner to Kalel. That might be why he is feeling all of them rushing to the forefront of his brain as he lies there, moving his arms as a parody of the actual action.

This is bad. He couldn't have chosen a worst possible time to get a hard on.

Not only would Ian see it, but also the rest of their crew and they will all think he's a pervert and _oh god what if Ian hates him and leaves forever and-_

“Anthony!” Ian exclaims in a way that means this isn't the first time he has called out his name.

“Huh?” The last thing he wants is to make eye contact with anyone while he's sporting a semi.

“You zoned out. Again.” The fondness lacing Ian’s exasperated tone makes his breath hitch in his chest and he doesn't even mind the muffled snickers of Ryan, their director.

He apologises and asks for a retake, saying his lines correctly this time. Once Ian leaves, it's easier to control his breathing and get himself under control. And right on time too, as he jumps and exposes himself to the camera.

His role is now finished so he excuses himself to the bathroom, taking his clothes with him. Splashing his face with water a few times helps clear the remains of the haze that had overtaken his mind a few minutes ago. He dresses up quickly and returns to the living room just as the shoot is being wrapped up.

After they're done reviewing the tapes, he lets his mind wander again while Ian cleans up and the crew packs their equipment.

He thinks back to one of their older videos, also featuring a haunting, and how they had sort of shared sleeping space then too. They were in their sleeping bags and Ian was shirtless, mere inches away. That was right after The Whipping Incident and Anthony was still pretty much in denial, even with the blood rushing to his face.

If only he knew at the time that he was going to dig himself into a hole and never climb out of it, at least not for several years.

Soon enough, the crew has vacated their house and they are left alone in the narrow hallway after seeing them out. Anthony’s stomach growls and Ian _giggles_. He had no idea that a grown man giggling could be so attractive but hey, that's Ian for you, always defying expectations.

"Chinese?” He questions with a raised brow over his warm, twinkling eyes and a lopsided grin and Anthony falls in love all over again.

“You know what I like.”

Yeah. Nineteen year old Anthony was an idiot for thinking he would never fall for this man.

 

 

**_2013_ **

It is on a warm summer day in their backyard that Anthony Padilla discovers that his best friend and object of his affections has practically no gag reflex.

Anthony Padilla is not okay.

His mind comes to an abrupt halt. For several seconds he doesn't hear anything over the pounding of blood in his ears.

“That is so disturbing,” he mumbles while trying not to let awe colour his tone. “I wish I didn't know you had this talent,” _because now I can't stop thinking about your lips shiny with spit and slick as they wrap around my fucking cock._

And this is bad. This is so bad. He had successfully managed to keep any dirty thoughts regarding Ian at bay for months now. But Ian has to pull off something like this and Anthony’s lust-addled brain can't possibly hope to keep up.

The past two years gave him ample time for introspection. He finally came to terms with the fact that he would never fall out of love with Ian and that it doesn't mean he can't love Kalel too (even when she acts a little too bossy). The love he feels for Ian has a constant background presence and he has learned enough self control to keep his desires in check. They're like a dim hum which only spring to life when Ian does something absolutely ridiculous like _deepthroat a damn shish kebab_.

It's not like he has a chance with Ian anyway. All the endless pining was getting a bit too melodramatic for his tastes. Anthony likes to believe he is a very rational person when it comes to emotions and dealing with them. Perhaps moving to LA was a bit extreme but he didn't do it _only_ to escape Ian. There were several reasons, being able to distance himself from Ian without hurting his feelings was a little bonus.

Not to say that it was easy. Moving from the quiet suburbs of Sacramento to fast paced LA was the biggest change he had made in his life. It was a comfort that he still had to visit Sac frequently to shoot videos. He got to see Ian just enough without living in fear of accidentally blurting his feelings for him.

The most important advantage was that he didn't have to interact with Melanie any more than what was required. Don't get him wrong. She has been his friend for years too and he enjoys her company. But she _is_ Ian's girlfriend. Ever since she moved in with them last year, he has seen them kissing or embracing or cuddling more times than he would have wished for, which is nil. Zero. Nada.

It's weird enough to witness one’s buddy playing tonsil hockey with some chick. But when said buddy is also your unrequited love that you've been lusting after for over half a decade, it just builds up more layers of **nope**.

Ian generally avoided doing it in his presence. Both because he understood that it made Anthony very uncomfortable and because he is a very reserved person by nature. But they're young twenty somethings living together after a long time of maintaining a long distance relationship.

Hell, if Anthony was in Melanie’s place, he wouldn't be able to resist Ian either. So he doesn't blame them. But he wasn’t fine with it at all.

When Kalel suggested they move to LA, it was met with little resistance.

Presently, he's spending the weekend with Ian and Melanie is back home visiting her parents in New Jersey. They have the house to themselves and he can almost pretend it's like the old times.

Nevermind that he's incredibly aroused and more than a little frustrated.

  
It doesn't help that the sunlight falls on Ian's face _just so_ and the glinting blue of his eyes reminds Anthony of the Hawaiian ocean and the vacation they went on together all those years ago. His hair is pleasantly ruffled, looking as soft and fluffy as ever and his fingers twitch with the need to run through the strands.

It is only through years of muscle memory that he is able to keep the camera steady and focused on its subject while he daydreams about bright afternoons spent in the water, splashing and swimming and dodging and running, volleyball games and late nights of underage drinking.

They should go on a vacation again. Just the two of them. Japan? Yeah Ian has always wanted to go to Japan.

No.

Anthony knows he wouldn't be able to separate reality from fantasy when they're away from the lives they have established here, in a supposedly safe bubble of otherworldliness. He'd say something stupid like _I want to spend the rest of my life with you_ while sitting under the Sakura trees or something.

Yep, that's a bad idea.

He should take Kalel there. Not Ian. Maybe then he won't dream up scenarios where they're both single and attracted to each other and spending their days at tourist attractions and whole nights in fancy love hotels, whispering sweet nothings to each other in between the glide of skin over skin, surrounded by the smell of sex and sweat and desperation.

Those are dangerous thoughts that he keeps locked away, the beast of want all chained up in a dingy cage, clawing against the walls of his heart, asking, _demanding_ to be set free. Oh the things he wants to do…

Ian Hecox is a terrible temptation that he isn't sure he even wants to resist.

 

 

**_2015_ **

Today feels monumental for some reason that Anthony can't decipher. While he generally ignores his gut feeling, doing it today feels…wrong. He feels like he's swaying on a precipice and one little gust of wind can send him falling either way. He just hasn't decided which way would be the better one.

Ian's coming over tonight. He should be excited but he has been on edge since he woke up instead. It's a bit ridiculous really.

The last time he felt like something _big_ was about to happen, he had received a call at three in the morning from Ian. He remembers the utter panic that had gripped his being and made his throat tighten. Ian hadn't said anything for several seconds after Anthony had accepted the call. There was the sound of shuffling and a muffled sniffle, then a high pitched whine – from Daisy, most likely – and then he had hung up.

It was bizarre and had done nothing to soothe his anxiety flared nerves, his brain coming up with suggestion after suggestion at a lighting pace, each worse than the last.

He doesn't remember getting dressed or grabbing his keys and driving but soon he was unlocking the door to Ian's place with the spare keys he had for emergencies and he wasn't naked, so he must have done those things in a daze.

He had checked the time on his phone. **3:38 am.**

“Ian?” He had called out tentatively and almost shrieked when a warm mass had brushed past his legs and nudged his thigh. “Daisy!” He had immediately bent down to give her a few cursory pats. But Daisy had whined again and grabbed his sleeve in her mouth to lead him in the direction of the balcony.

A thousand intrusive thoughts had popped up in his mind in the span of a few seconds.

And then he had seen it.

There was Ian, sitting on the floor with his back resting against the glass window and looking out over the deserted roads through the railing. His left hand was clutched around an enormous wine glass – empty. Near his thigh was a toppled bottle of wine with a tiny puddle near the open mouth. It was dark in the living room except for the light escaping his bathroom through the slightly ajar door.

"Ian?” His voice was barely above a whisper as he had climbed out into the small balcony and knelt beside his friend, carefully avoiding the puddle of wine.

Then Ian had turned and _there_ , illuminated faintly by the street lights below, the memory of his flushed skin, puffy and bloodshot eyes and tear streaked cheeks had taken permanent residence in his brain. He was so taken aback at seeing him looking so _miserable_ that he couldn't stop himself from blurting the question.

“Who died!?”

Ian, even in his inebriated state, had given him an incredulous look and snorted – not a good idea, there was snot dripping down his nose now – and then laughed. It was devoid of any humour and Anthony never wants to hear that heart-wrenching sound again.

Displacing the wine bottle, he had snuggled up next to Ian and used the sleeve of his sweater to gently wipe the tears and snot. He could count on one hand the number of times that Ian had broken down in front of him and this was way worse than any of those times.

He still knew not to prod until Ian opened up on his own terms.

Daisy had trotted outside and made herself comfortable by stretching across their laps and they'd started running their fingers absently through her fur, including a few scratches here and there.

It had been strangely serene and for the first time in 24 hours, Anthony had felt at ease.

He had dozed off, tucking his head on Ian's shoulder, the combined warmth from the two bodies pressed up to him and Daisy’s gentle snores lulling him into a restful sleep, regardless of the hard tiled floor.

He had woke up to Ian shivering and had wrapped his arms around his waist and shoulder, pressing him up against his own chest. When the trembling had subsided, Ian had cleared his throat before pulling back and rubbing his eyes harshly.

“Mel and I broke up,” he had rasped, without meeting Anthony’s gaze, playing with a loose thread on his own sweatshirt.

 _Fuck_ , Anthony had thought. _Of course he's this upset. Seven years is a long time…_

“It was a mutual decision but,” he had inhaled deeply before letting out a heavy exhale and Anthony didn't need him to continue to understand.

Ian has always been a man of few words and gestures mean more to him than empty condolences. So Anthony had pulled him back against his chest, his ear resting right above his own heart, and they had stayed that way till sunrise.

 

It's been almost a year since then and the memory is still extremely vivid in Anthony’s mind.

Ian will be here in less than an hour and Anthony wants to surprise him with dinner. It's weird that they've never cooked for each other. Ian is generally terrible in the kitchen but Anthony had discovered he was fairly decent at making most dishes.

He has an unopened bottle of red wine resting on the island and he has all the ingredients set up in his kitchen to make spaghetti and meatballs – real meat for Ian and fake one for himself. He is about to turn on the stove when he receives a text from Ian.

>>I'm getting take out from that new place a few blocks from mine. What do you want?

 _Oh_.

<<it's fine I'm making my own food

>>Okay

Anthony sets the phone down and sighs. He was already uncertain about the whole thing and now he has lost what little confidence he was clinging onto.

It's unusual. Anthony doesn't generally tiptoe around Ian but cooking for him seems strangely intimate, if only because they've never done this _ever_.

He doesn't have the appetite for something as heavy as spaghetti all of a sudden and begins to store the ingredients in the refrigerator. He’ll make something with bread later when Ian is here.

Why does he feel so _exhausted_ all of a sudden?

There's a noise as Pip knocks down something from the dining table. He approaches it and picks up the fallen candle, turning it over once. Twice.

A ridiculous idea strikes him. _Ian wouldn't mind, would he?_

He shoos Pip away and places the candle back, bringing a lighter from the kitchen to put next to it. A candlelit dinner.

What the hell is he doing?

Why is he making everything unnecessarily romantic with the spaghetti and the wine and now this. He knows they have become more intimate in the past year but not like that, no matter how much he wishes it were.

The doorbell rings and he checks the clock – Ian is early. It makes him smile.

Later when he's cooking his own meal and Ian is badgering him to hurry up, he feels a familiar warmth wash over him at how domestic it is, somehow even more so than when they lived together. He allows himself a few moments to fantasise that this is his future. His pulse quickens at the thought of Ian and him living together again, with shared dinners every night and teasing banter filling the space, going to bed wrapped up in each other's arms, waking each other up with kisses and blowing raspberries, before letting their hands wander and having lazy morning sex, making love in every sense of the word.

His heart _aches_ for it, that quiet intimacy. He clenches his jaw and takes deep breaths before he does something embarrassing like cry.

They film as they eat and reminisce about their high school days. It's the happiest he has felt in months.

“Do you want some wine?” He questions when they're done filming and Ian is stretched out over the couch with Pip snoozing on his chest.

“Sure.”

They only drink enough to be slightly tipsy because Ian suggests they film another video.

They're in the middle of playing Whisper Challenge when _something_ stirs deep inside him, the locked up beast of desire going wild in his confines. Maybe it's the wine. Maybe it's the freedom to stare at Ian’s lips without worrying about creeping him out. Maybe it's the innuendos.

He's not sure what prompts him but he lets the words slip past.

“I love apple juice and I love you.”

Although, he immediately panics and tries to backtrack by saying how it was sweet.

What he really wants to say is that he is overwhelmingly in love with him.

The game continues but his heart is still racing, nerves on fire. They finish up the video and Ian pours them more wine. Anthony knows it's a bad idea to let loose when he feels so close to finally letting it all out. But he's just so _tired_. Tired of hiding, of lying, of keeping himself in check.

They're sitting on the couch now. Anthony sets down his glass and inhales once before cupping Ian's face, forcing him to meet his gaze and sighs deeply. Ian's eyes widen and he holds Anthony’s wrist but doesn't push him away. He runs his tongue over his upper lip and pulls the bottom one between his teeth, biting gently. Anthony's attention is enraptured by the motion and he feels the blood rush to his face.

They lean in and rest their foreheads against each other, their breaths mingling and Anthony is hyperaware of all the points where they are touching. Ian rests his free hand just a little above Anthony's knee, the contact a hot brand even through his jeans and his breath hitches in his chest. Ian's eyes are shut and his breathing is steadily growing heavier. There's not even an inch of space between their lips and it's _maddening_.

The hand on his knees moves higher, the grip on his thigh gentle but firm. And Ian closes the gap between them.

Their first kiss is a mere brush of lips but it's dizzying in its intensity. Anthony glides his hand over the nape of Ian's neck and tangles his fingers into the soft hair. He brushes his thumb over his cheekbone once before lowering to grasp Ian's jaw more firmly. They both tilt their heads then and _oh_.

In that moment, everything else fades away and all he can sense is the warm wetness of Ian's lips against his own and the prominent _thud-thud_ of Ian's pulse where his own fingers rest against his neck. He freezes.

And then it hits him.

He's kissing Ian.

He's _kissing_ Ian.

A needy sound escapes his throat and Ian's hand tightens around his wrist. Something clicks in him and he _pounces_. He throws his arms over Ian's shoulders, locking them around his neck and parts his lips to pull in Ian's bottom lip between his own. Ian wraps his arms around his middle and he twists his body so that one knee is folded and resting on the couch.

The air between them is charged and he feels sparks every time Ian pulls back a little, only to kiss him with even more fervour.

They both moan when their tongues meet and lick into each other mouths, chasing the taste of wine lingering inside, hands wandering over heated skin. A deep, guttural noise escapes him when Ian bites his lip and then soothes the sting by suckling on it. Anthony pushes him till he's lying flat on his back and straddles him, using his position to take control of the kiss.

Ian's hands stroke his back and dig into shoulders as Anthony allows his tongue to fuck into his mouth in an imitation of what else he would like to do to that mouth. Ian sucks on his tongue at the same time as he grabs a handful of his ass, pulling him closer to grind their hips against each other.

Anthony gasps and pulls back to feast his eyes on Ian, who looks fairly debauched. His eyes are glassy and his skin is burning up, the flush spreading past his collar, his lips are swollen and red, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, hair ruffled in a way he never allows them to. Anthony guesses he doesn't look any better.

He nuzzles Ian's neck, pressing quick kisses down his throat before sucking right beside where his Adam’s apple bobs. It's not enough to mark but Ian moans and grinds their hips again so it must feel good.

There's a quick movement and a push against his chest before he finds himself on his back with Ian lying on top of him, running his fingers over his chest and kissing fervently the exposed skin above his collarbone. He sucks and bites and licks, encouraged by Anthony’s huffs and groans and the animalistic part of him feels ecstatic at being marked. _You belong to me_ , the bruise screams and Anthony has never wanted to offer himself – mind, body and soul – more than in this moment. He thrusts his hips upwards and almost loses it when he feels the hardness near his hips. God, he wants this so much.

“Ian,” he whines and he doesn't care how needy and desperate he sounds. “Touch me. _Fuck_ , touch me. Please,” he manages between his heavy breaths and then…it stops.

He stifles a cry at the loss of contact and opens his eyes with much difficulty. His heart drops and he pales at seeing the alarmed look on Ian's face. He's afraid to speak, to touch, to _breathe_.

Ian looks up suddenly, catching his eyes and jumps off of him. Anthony sits up immediately because _what is he doing!?_

Ian looks everywhere but at his face, even as he stands there with an obvious tent in his pants. He shakes his head then covers his face, body wound up as if preparing to flee.

Anthony stands up and pulls his hands away to reveal his face marred with worry and…regret.

_No._

_Please no, god, this can't be happening_.

“W-what-“ he hates how his voice quivers, hates that Ian won't meet his gaze, hates that he's on the verge of tears.

Ian takes a step back, then another, and another and Anthony feels his hopes shatter with every step.

“I-I don't know-I never meant to-I'm sorry, I _can't_ ,” he gets out and then turns away.

Anthony doesn't know what to do. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat and hastily wipes the tear that rolls down his cheek. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“It was a mistake. We're both drunk, we didn't mean that, it's fine. Everything’s fine.”

_NO IT’S NOT!_

_It's not fine, what are you saying!?_

“It didn't mean anything. We're just drunk and lonely. That's all. It didn't mean anything.”

 _It meant something to me. It meant everything to me! For god’s sake, shut up._ Please _stop._

“Ian-“

“I need to go. I'm sorry. We-“ he shakes his head again and doesn't even bother completing his sentence before he leaves.

Anthony is still gaping after him, fingers trembling and knees weak, waiting for…something. Anything. He doesn't realise he's crying till he hears a pitiful howl and finds that it's coming from him. He drops to his knees and tries to get his breathing under control, to no avail.

_It's over._

_It's all over. I fucked up._

_He hates me._

He cries till his head pounds and then cries some more. He lies on the rug and hugs his knees close to his chest, and berates himself for messing everything up.

He falls asleep right there on the floor when he has rendered his body incapable of producing any more tears and wakes up with a crick in his back, a sharp pain behind his eyes and a heavy ache in his chest.

Ian doesn't call the next morning.

Nor the one after that.

He knocks on his door the third day with breakfast and new video ideas and acts as if the night never happened.

So Anthony pastes on a smile that hurts his cheeks and pretends he isn't dying inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! FYI I didn't mean to write angst at all when I started. My hand slipped and it just...happened. Much thanks to Kayla and Sam for their suggestions <3 Kudos and comments are really really appreciated!! Constructive criticism is welcome too because this is my first time writing something like this and I'm a little uncertain if it's okay. Anyway, thank you for reading :)
> 
>  
> 
> Here's the videos I referenced-  
> 2006: A Day In The Life Of Smosh #5  
> 2010: Worst Rap Battle Ever! (Lunchtime w/ Smosh)  
> 2011: Paranormal Easy Bake Oven!  
> 2013: Hot Grills  
> 2015: Pranking Each Other + The Whisper Challenge #3


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